Eques
by Konstantinsen
Summary: Horses became a part of his life when he moved to Katla's Farm. It was miserable at first but in time, he soon came to be grateful for it.


**NOTE: Had to write this down. I should be working on a project right now but I guess some ideas cannot be shelved for later.**

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 _4E 202 - Frostfall_

Blaise saw the man ride down to the farm. Before he could steer his horse in front of the stables, the young groom automatically set aside the rake and reached out his hand to take the loose reins hanging off the steed's bridle.

The man dismounted and removed his helmet. Sweat beaded down from his forehead down to the knot on his beard despite the heavy winter chill that blew down from the heights of the mountains surrounding Solitude. He eyed the young stableboy and gave him a curt smile.

Blaise could only offer a weaker smirk in return. This large black horse was his twentieth of the day and it was only an hour before midday. His little frame was unfit to cope with such burdensome responsibilities such as caring for the various steeds of all those who came to and from Solitude. Even the stallions of some of the equites visiting from Cyrodiil had to find refuge here at Aunt Katla's farm.

Regardless, he led the large black horse, its sides clearly showing healed gashes, to an empty cubicle at the end of the stables.

"What's your name, boy?" the man suddenly asked.

"Blaise, sir," he replied meekly, keeping his eyes to the rake so he could continue mucking out the dung from the other cubicles.

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead. Stormcloak ambush," came the automatic reply.

The man stared. Blaise was too winded to pay much notice until he felt a large glove hand take his. The boy looked up to see a small pouch drop into his open palm. It jingled with the distinct sound and texture of a mass of minted coins.

He eyed the stranger, wide-eyed and astonished. "But, I..."

"It's okay, boy. You need it more than I do." The man smiled at him again then walked away to the city's gates. "Besides, my little Queen Alfsigr is not that difficult to rein in."

Blaise stood in the middle of the farmyard gaping at coin purse in his hand. He looked up to see the man disappear onto the road, passed one of the patrolling Solitude guardsmen. The guard stopped, gaping at the stranger then approached the boy.

"Stablehand, did you notice that?" he asked.

Blaise shook his head. "N-no."

The guardsman stared back at the road, a look of confusion crossing his bearded face. "By the gods, I think his armor is made of dragon bones. Either that or someone spiked my mead with skooma."

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 _4E 218 – Hearthfire_

The first, second, and third cohorts of the Legio VI assembled in tight formation in the vast courtyard of Castle Dour. On the order of the centurions, they marched out of the city to meet with the fourth cohort that rode out of the Solitude Stables.

The footmen were helmed into formation until the mounted cavalry of the fourth cohort fell together in pairs alongside them. Then the new legate, an experienced master of mounted combat, rode in front of them clad in the glistening segmented steel plating specifically reserved for such a position.

One of the centurions approached the Nord eques.

"Legate Pontus, the men are ready. We are awaiting your command."

Legate Blaise Cato Pontus scanned the mass of troops, half were from Cyrodiil while the rest were Nord auxiliaries. With a grunt, he gave the order to mobilize.

His word resounded through the ranks of the assembled soldiers and in near uniform synchronicity, they all began marching down the road to Dragonbridge. Blaise took his place by the Legio VI standard-bearer, bending down slightly to yank a loose strap hanging off the bridle.

"Easy there, Alfsigr," he cooed to the aged steed. It grunted in reply.

The legate looked up to the sky, half-expecting to see a dragon soar from behind the mountains, roaring and breathing fire down upon them. He saw how exposed they all were to such an attack. Then he looked down and tugged lightly at the cords to Alfsigr's bridle, keeping her head from veering to the side where a fox was strutting behind the trees.

Blaise mentally scolded himself for daydreaming. There were no dragons now, he corrected himself. Only tales of those that were slain during the Dragon Crisis over a decade ago.

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 **NOTE: I took some liberties with Blaise because why not.**

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: February 24, 2016**

 **LAST EDITED: February 24, 2016**


End file.
